


you're the glitter in the dark

by piccadilly



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Elemental Magic, Evakteket Challenge, Even is smitten, Fluff and Humor, Isak has a black cat called Ruby, Light Angst, M/M, Magic Revealed, Superpowers, W.I.T.C.H. Fusion, references to witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piccadilly/pseuds/piccadilly
Summary: Isak is a witch. The universe wants Even to find out.Or, five times Isak almost revealed his magic, and the one time Even revealed his.(for the Evakteket Challenge)





	you're the glitter in the dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelycarcass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelycarcass/gifts).



> Another AU because I have never had an original thought in my life. Inspired by the very slightly fudged prompts of "fairytale/magic" and "5+1".
> 
> Massive thanks to the most supportive writer and friend ever, the wonderful Zarin [Behindthecities](https://www.vanqoh.tumblr.com). She has followed and supported and edited this story since it was nothing but a traipsing voice message on WhatsApp, and for that, I am so grateful.
> 
> Another big thanks to the gorgeous [lovelycarcass](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelycarcass/pseuds/lovelycarcass). This is my thank you to you for your thank you to me. You are amazing and such a talent in this fandom, and I can't wait for whatever you do next.
> 
> And a final big thank you to [Kit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kittpurrson/pseuds/kittpurrson) and [Immy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia). Thank you for organising this amazing event that got me using my imagination instead of killing my very last brain cells on Unsolved Mysteries youtube videos.
> 
> I briefly reference a tweet in this, found [here](https://pics.me.me/coworker-omg-text-me-anytime-you-need-a-shift-covered-25085852.png). Thank you for being funnier than I ever will.
> 
> Title from "Laura" by Bat for Lashes. Oh Laura, you're more than a superstar!

**1.**

It happens, as most things do, at the least convenient time possible.

It’s three weeks into his second year at Nissen and Isak’s already behind in biology, incentive enough to drop the whole ‘celestial guardian of energy’ thing stat. Sciences are his best subjects, and he doesn’t actually intend to fight monsters for the rest of his life. Of course, the Oracle doesn’t really care if Isak would rather catch up on chromatids: when they call, he answers.

Like now, when he’s barely been in his seat for four minutes before a familiar beat rises loud in his ears. The pendant at the end of a long, thin necklace burns at his sternum. It glows pink, so bright it’s visible beneath his plain grey top. It almost looks like he’s bleeding.

 _Come now, guardian_ , it whispers.  _We need you_.

Isak groans. On his left, Sana shoots him a dirty look, having learnt by now that when Isak buries his head in his hands before No-Bra’s even turned the projector on, it probably means he’s going to ditch class with another terrible excuse. The sound his chair makes when he scrapes it across the floor alerts him to the rest of the class, meaning they all get to listen in when he makes up his bi-weekly reason as to why he has to leave class  _rightnowimmediately_. This morning it’s his great-grandmother Ingrid who has come down with another fatal ailment: this could really be the time she goes. As far as the school’s aware, she’s been a breath away from eternal rest since 2015.

Despite being awful in just about every way imaginable, No-Bra is endlessly sympathetic to Isak’s fake dying great-grandmother. It means he can rush out of class and into the first-floor bathrooms, supposedly haunted so no one uses them. This works perfectly for Isak as it means the chances of being walked in on while he transforms into his Guardian self are remarkably low. Yet Isak also has to live with the knowledge that its ‘haunting’ is the result of Magnus once returning back to Earth with a demon still attached to his leg. The ensuing fight was so loud, the whole floor’s been believed cursed since.

The memory still makes him break out in a cold sweat, and it’s this thought that fury-guides him into the bathroom, already pulling his shirt off in order to transform. Unfortunately, or perhaps, fortunately, the shirt gets caught over his hair, meaning in the process of blindly groping around for the small, pink sphere beating at his ribs, he grips onto something else instead.

Something very warm and alive.

“Um, hello,” a voice says, deep and boyish. They sound surprised, but not unpleasantly so, as if the sight of a half-naked Isak with his t-shirt caught over his head like a balaclava is charming instead of indescribably stupid. Isak immediately lets go, falling back a step until he’s pressed up against the opposite wall. He quickly pulls the shirt back down, leaving his hair tousled in every direction. He sighs, because he actually made an effort with it this morning, and looks across at the body he was just touching. His breath catches at the sight.

He’s gorgeous; the effortless kind of good-looking indicative of someone who’s never had to set themselves phone reminders to drink more water. Everything about him is perfect, snatched right out of Isak’s deepest fantasies, right down to his long, long legs and the joint tucked shamelessly behind his ear. Isak vaguely feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.

The boy is watching him curiously, perched on the windowsill with a lime green sketchbook in his lap. For a moment neither of them speak, and Isak would be worried that he was gaping if his teeth weren’t clenched so tightly together.

“Um,” the boy says again, biting his lip, “were you getting naked?”

“No,” Isak says immediately, even though his shirt is still rucked up at his waist.

“It looks like you were getting naked.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

The boy tilts his head at him, raising an eyebrow. “So, what were you doing?”

Isak grasps for anything. “I’m hot.”

He immediately regrets it when the boy’s lips twitch, small and secretive. He looks pointedly out the window behind him, where the sky is grey and murky and drizzling.

“You’re hot?” He repeats, his voice dripping with mirth, and as gorgeous as he may be, Isak has a necklace that’s burning at his skin and a world in need of saving.

“I am,” he says forcibly, squaring his shoulders until he’s standing taller. “So, can you please leave now?”

“But I was here first,” the boy argues, folding his arms across his chest. It only emphasises the broadness of his shoulders, the way his denim jacket is taut across his biceps.

Isak resists the urge to stamp his foot. “But I need it more.”

“How can you need an entire bathroom more?” He asks incredulously. Isak ignores this; he wouldn't understand.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in class?” Isak asks him, eyes catching on the philosophy textbook half-falling out of his bag. A third year, then.

“Maybe,” the boy shrugs, unbothered. He plays mindlessly with the bags zip, dragging it up and down in even motions. “Shouldn’t you?”

Isak rolls his eyes. “Do you always counter questions with more questions?”

The boy grins. “Do you always take your shirt off when you enter public bathrooms?”

This time, Isak really does stamp his foot. Then, he marches towards the nearest empty cubicle. He still can’t transform while this boy is close by (there’s a lot of pink light and he grows by a head) but the sooner he ends this conversation, the sooner he can get to Kandrakar.

 _Hurry, guardian_ , the voice says again.  _We are waiting for you_.

Right then, his phone buzzes. _What the fuck’s keeping you dude,_ reads Mahdi’s text into the group chat. Magnus quickly adds his two cents _: I’ve been waiting in the third floor supply closet for almost 10 minutes hurry up Isak it smells in here!!_  Jonas, as usual, is the third and most patient.  _Everything okay, Issy?_

Everything is not okay, but Isak can’t say that without causing alarm. Realistically, a handsome boy who refuses to leave Isak alone is the opposite of a problem, but right now, he can’t think of anything worse.

“Are you alright in there?”

Speak of the devil, he thinks. “Please leave,” he says instead.

Outside the cubicle door, the boy sighs. He almost sounds defeated, but Isak can’t have caused that. This is the haunted bathroom, after all, it’s hardly worth arguing over.

“Will you tell me your name, at least?”

And  _what_?

Despite the odd request, Isak swings open the door, surprised to find the boy right outside it. He obviously wasn’t expecting Isak to do so, because he steps back quickly, a pretty blush reaching up to his ears.

“If I tell you, will you go?” Isak asks sternly.

The boy sighs deeply like Isak is being ridiculous. In any other circumstance, he would agree. “I guess so. If you insist.”

“I insist.”

“Fine then,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me your name and the bathroom’s yours.”

Isak looks at him closely, at the cornflower blue eyes and plush pink lips. At a straight nose and sharp jaw and the flash of pale collarbone beneath too many layers. He takes a deep breath, an invisible tether.

“My name’s Isak.”

The boy grins, and Isak’s expecting an edge to it but there’s nothing there. “Isak,” he repeats, testing it on his tongue. He seems satisfied with it. “I’m Even, and I’m a man of my word. I’ll be leaving now.”

 _Good_ , Isak almost says, but even he knows he doesn’t really mean it. He wants to say more, to apologise for being so rude, but he doesn’t have the time. The pendant is glowing against his ribs, beating urgently now, and a ripple of second-hand anxiety, probably Magnus’s, makes its way down his spine. Even seems to catch on because he steps back, keeps going till the bathroom doors open and he has a foot in the hallway.

“Wait, Even!” Isak calls, not even sure what he’s doing, but Even turns back immediately, relieved. He stares at Isak, and Isak stares helplessly back. “Thanks,” is all he says, but Even understands. The grin is back, smaller this time but just as sincere.

“I’ve got you,” Even says quietly, and then he’s gone.

From there, the process of transforming from regular, seventeen-year-old high school student Isak into Isak, Keeper of the Heart of Kandrakar, goes blessedly smooth. He senses the boys’ presence before he sees them, quiet wisps of  _fucking finally_  and the prickly taste of Jonas’s concern. He responds easily to the ribbing, nothing that will give away what kept him so long.

He has bigger concerns, anyway. Isak isn’t just anyone; he’s a Guardian, and responsibility comes first. Still, if he spends a little too long during the meeting with the Oracle dreaming up blonde hair with a lime green sketchbook, no one else needs to know.

 

**2.**

The next time he meets Even he is regrettably drunk, dressed as a fairy and scanning a strangers’ fridge for more beer. It’s Halloween, his second favourite holiday, and he tells Even this enthusiastically, all the while bringing an open mayonnaise bottle to his lips. Even, because he’s an angel, stops him just before he starts drinking, placing the bottle gently back on the middle shelf of the fridge and pulling Isak away.

“That’s quite enough for you, I think,” he says mildly, slapping at Isak’s hand when he reaches for Even’s half-drunk beer. Isak pouts, too drunk to have a proper go, but Even just smiles indulgently, like Isak being this plastered is actually very cute.

“Stop smiling at me,” he grumbles, the effect lost due to the sparkly pink stars flying with every turn of his head. They’re  _everywhere_ ; two big ones attached with springs to a headband, bobbing cheerfully like ducks, as well as an entire tube of glitter emptied over his hair, courtesy of Eva.

“But you look so pretty,” Even smiles, flicking at one of the bobbing stars. It jumps right back, and Isak almost wants to be jealous that a headband is getting more attention from Even than he is. “Are you a fairy?”

“What gave it away?”

He’s going for sardonic, but the way he overestimates the distance between his right hand and Even’s beer means he’s falling into him instead. Even catches him deftly, holding him up so that Isak slumps into his chest. He tries one last half-hearted swipe at the beer, causing Even to laugh. The sound vibrates into his chest, and then Even’s turning him around in his arms and walking them onto the empty deck.

It’s fucking cold outside, and Isak, dressed in nothing but white gym shorts and a loose singlet, finds himself shivering, sobering immediately. He shifts in Even’s grip, jumping up on the balls of his feet to try and warm up. He’s unused to being cold: as the Heart, he possesses the power of Quintessence, pure life and energy. One touch to the pendant and he could be as warm as midsummer, but it would defeat the purpose of pushing into Even, using the cold as an excuse to steal  _his_  body heat.

He’s not sure when Even became more than just the dude he harassed out of the haunted bathroom. It started off small, Even greeting him in hallways, Isak nodding a hello when their eyes caught across the common room, bickering over Even’s pretentious taste in everything on the tram home from school. Now, they’re not quite friends but they’re not quite not friends, less standing at crossroads and more flirting around them.

The thing is, every time Isak’s sure Even’s going to breach that line and ask him out, something inevitably goes wrong. And by something, he means getting cockblocked over and over again by the goddamn Oracle. It’s like they  _know_  Isak’s attention is drifting, his feelings gliding along with it, to someone very tall and very pompous and very good looking.

( _Your heart belongs to Kandrakar_ , the Oracle tells him, in not so many words. But they’re wrong; Isak’s heart belongs to no one but him.)

“What are you meant to be, anyway?” He asks rather rudely.

Even gestures down at his outfit, a shapeless white gown that reveals nothing but works wonders on his complexion. His long, black lashes on red flushed cheeks. If the dress is white, Even is screaming technicolour.

“I’m God. Obviously.”

Isak narrows his eyes. “If you’re God, where’s your beard?”

“I left it in the lounge somewhere. It was itchy,” Even says haughtily. “You have a very narrow definition of what God should look like.”

Even’s favourite hobby seems to be teaching Isak to be a better, more culturally rounded person. Isak doesn’t dare mention that he’s seen God, or the closest thing to them in the next world, and it’s a bunch of colourless, genderless entities that like bossing him around and anything covered in chicken salt.

“You’re the one wearing a dress,” Isak sniffs.

Even just laughs. “I believe it’s a tunic, actually.”

Isak crosses his arms, mimicking the sound of Even’s words into something unintelligible.

“You’re a child,” Even says fondly.

“I’m a  _witch_.”

“I thought you were a fairy?”

“Right,” Isak nods. “I’m a fairy.”

(The words taste wrong on his tongue and he hates that he can’t tell Even that.)

“You have the wings for it,” Even giggles, tweaking one of his fairy wings. They’re the cheap kind that you strap over your shoulders with flimsy elastic bands and, like the stars, they’re pink and sparkly. It’s Isak’s punishment for failing to provide any alcohol for three pre-drinks in a row. It’s not his fault that he’s not eighteen yet, let alone carries the safety of two worlds on his wavy, blonde head. He  _forgets_  these things.

(Shockingly, that excuse doesn’t fly when your best friends do the exact same thing alongside you. Jonas, because he thinks he’s really funny, chose fairy knowing Isak hates the misconception. He’s also poking fun at Isak’s actual wings – curly and perky out of his shoulder blades – so fairy he is.)

“Fairy’s quite accurate, you know? You’re very hard to pin down,” Even says matter-of-factly.

“No, I’m not,” Isak huffs. “I’m the most available person ever.”

Even snorts. “Are you really?”

Isak blushes at the implication. “Shut up, you know what I mean.”

“I do, and you’re not. I look for you all the time and sometimes I never find you.”

Isak looks up, eyes wide with surprise. “You look for me? Why?”

Even leans back against the railing, watching Isak intently. He lights the joint that lives behind his ear, the orange flame of his lighter dancing against a howling wind. It casts shadows on his face, made sharper by the flickering light.

“Why do you think?” He asks quietly.

Isak doesn’t think, that’s the point. He thinks he may know the answer, though.

“What are you saying?” He asks Even, stepping closer, answering his question with another question.

“I’m saying…” Even says, leaning closer until he’s a hairsbreadth away, smoke drifting between sharp white teeth. “I’m saying we should shot-gun.”

It’s not the answer he wanted, but it’s not a terrible idea. Isak’s never shot-gun before, just watched Jonas do it with rebounds after he and Eva broke up the first time. He knows it’s intimate, and he knows he’s very, very keen.

He nods, letting Even take the lead, pressing a thumb beneath his chin and tilting his face up until Isak could just as easily kiss him. Even sucks in a breath and he’s already lightheaded. He can feel his eyes closing, relaxing into Even’s warmth… only to be ripped away by something tugging at his wings.

His first instinct is to recoil, his wings being so sensitive just the thought of strange hands touching them causes him to shudder. But they’re not his wings, mere nylon imposters, and the hand belongs to Jonas, drunk and concerned.

“What’s wrong?” Isak asks, pulled out of their bubble. Jonas wastes no time dragging him back into the house, Even following a few steps behind. He doesn’t seem too upset, just smokes the joint quietly, eyes never leaving Isak.

“Magnus is drunk,” Jonas explains. Corrects himself. “Very drunk.”

Shit.

Drunk Magnus means bad dancing and a devil screaming in his ear to swallow down more Jägerbombs. Very Drunk Magnus means him threatening to reveal their secret, invoking his powers as Earth guardian to grow bouquets of daisies from the palm of his hand, usually to impress some girls. Best case scenario has them believing it’s a magic trick, just an impressively executed one. Worst case scenario— well, Isak doesn’t even want to imagine the worst case scenario.

“Where is he?” Isak asks, having to yell to be heard over the din of the kitchen. It’s a frenzy in here, a sea of vampires and minions and Harley Quinn’s crowding around a noisy game of beer pong. He bumps into a werewolf, or what he thinks is a werewolf, swept up in the throng, Jonas’s grip circling his wrist.

“Upstairs bathroom!” Jonas yells back, and on anyone else, his hands would burn like fire. It’s still uncomfortably hot on Isak, and he’s immune to his powers.

He remembers Even just as they reach the staircase, glancing over his shoulder in the direction they just came. He spots him by the door of the kitchen, leaning against a wall and watching Isak go. He has his beer back, and he lifts it in a mock-salute as Isak’s pulled further and further up the stairs.  _You’re very hard to pin down._

Grimly, Isak salutes back.

 

**3.**

“You owe us so many drinks for that shit you pulled on Halloween, bro,” Mahdi chides.

“I’ve apologised like a million times! And I didn’t even  _do_  anything.”

“You tried! If Mahdi hadn’t been there to stop you, the entire school would have us down for practicing witchcraft,” says Jonas.

“Or worse, thinking we’re  _magicians_ ,” Isak adds.

They all shudder at the thought. It’s a running joke amongst Guardians that the easiest way to avoid slips in secrecy is by passing them off as illusions or magic tricks. Personally, Isak would rather die than have anyone think he can pull a rabbit out of a hat, even though he’s dabbled in necromancy and probably could.

November is here with a vengeance. Students are huddled in groups all across the courtyard, keeping close to preserve warmth before class begins. Technically, none of the boys are cold, having tapped into Isak’s power, but they crowd together all the same. This is useful in icing anyone out should they overhear their conversation, but is also a remnant of their early days as Guardians, when they were still getting to know one another and Magnus insisted on group hugs after every mission.

He’s in the doghouse today, on phase one of the ‘Magnus Tried to Reveal Our Magic  _Again’_ punishment scale. This means providing them all with hot drinks every morning of the week; Isak’s hot chocolate is delicious. He knows he shouldn’t really enjoy these weeks, as they mean they ran the risk of exposure even for a moment, but when it all comes up Milhouse, it means free breakfast and alcohol for an entire week.

Magic doesn’t really pay well.

(Not that Isak ever intended to become a magical entity that protected realms from dark spirits and monsters.

It fell on his lap on his first day of first year, lost on his way to class and coming across a giant lizard-man intent on killing him instead. Isak was 100% sure he was going to die that day – and in the least believable way possible – when seemingly from his heart, he pulled out a glowing, pink orb. This attracted three other boys (one being Jonas, his best friend of thirteen years) who came to fight with him, drawn to the battle by a compass within them. The rest is history.

Earth, Water, and Fire. They’ve been best friends ever since and generally, they’re a blessing. Sometimes, they’re a curse.)

Like now, when they’re loudly arguing over who’s more of a liability: Magnus or Isak.

“Isak’s always late! We can’t even transform until he’s ready but he’s always the last to arrive, usually with a shitty excuse.”

“True, dude. Remember last month when we were all waiting around for like, half an hour because he was too busy staring at his reflection in the haunted toilets?”

Isak makes an affronted noise because that was Even’s fault and no more than ten minutes max. As usual, the boys ignore him.

“And he never hosts pres or brings any drinks himself! Isak is clearly our least valuable player here,” Magnus insists, with such vigour he almost spills his coffee over himself. (That’s what he gets.)

“Yeah, bro,” Mahdi says, elbowing Isak’s side. “How the fuck are you our leader?”

This is all starting to feel a little like a witch-hunt, and he’s just about ready to bring up the time Mahdi flooded their chemistry class trying to put out a contained fire when Jonas grips his shoulder, familiar and comforting.

(He’s Isak’s favourite.)

“Look,” he says, gaining everyone’s attention. “Isak’s a freeloader, we all know this.” Isak scowls. Insultingly, Mahdi and Magnus nod along like this is obvious. “But at least we don’t have to worry about him revealing our magic every time he drinks.”

He directs this at Magnus, who groans loudly, and then everyone’s picking on him again and the order of the universe is restored. His voice is rising, dangerous words being thrown a little too loudly for a place so public, but they’ve been safe so far and Isak doesn’t think anyone is listening. It’s not until a new voice joins theirs that it all stops, every single cell freezing in his bloodstream.

“Magic?” Even asks, having walked up behind Magnus and Mahdi. “You do magic?”

His voice is curious, no judgement at all, but Isak can’t move. He’s panicking, the type of fear that’s paralysing, as Magnus stumbles for an excuse. Because something went wrong when they were chosen and he is clearly their true leader, Jonas comes to the rescue.

“Magnus is experimenting with Wicca,” he says calmly, and they all breathe an invisible sigh of relief. 

“That’s cool, man,” Even says, looking impressed. “You worship a goddess?”

Magnus clearly has very little knowledge or understanding of Pagan customs. His smile stretches unnaturally across his lips, a dead giveaway that he’s about to say something stupid, and Isak intervenes before this can get any worse.

“He’s still dabbling,” he says cheerfully, the fake kind of livid retail workers. “What’s up?”

Even looks taken aback, possibly because this is the nicest Isak’s ever been to him. It’s not that he’s mean to Even or anything, they just bicker. It’s their way of flirting (he thinks).

“Just got my physics oral back,” Even grins, recovering quickly. “Thanks for helping me study.”

He hands Isak a marking sheet, fresh doodles extending down the margins. It’s mostly anatomy; eyes and hands and curved lips, vaguely familiar. At the top of the page sits a red ‘79%’, a scribbled smiley face beside it. ‘Most improved!’ it says cheerfully.

Isak rolls his eyes, but he’s secretly pleased. “We barely  _did_  any study. You whined about how much you hated gravity for half an hour and then made me watch a weird Japanese movie about baking.”

It had actually been about witches, meaning Isak worried for a solid half of the film if this was Even’s indirect way of telling him he knew his secret. When Even later spent fifteen minutes waxing poetic about the animation in one shot, he figured it was just coincidence.

This was probably the most academic part of the night, not that Isak had gone into their totally-platonic-but-not-really study date expecting to do any real work. Even is sort of blatantly obvious, having invited Isak over to help him study for an upcoming test. When Isak had asked what one, Even had blithely replied “any one”.

Isak’s genuinely surprised there was a test at all.

The night had ended with them lying on opposite ends of Even’s offensively comfy couch, legs tangled together and Even throwing popcorn into Isak’s mouth. He missed most of the shots, kernels bouncing off of his nose and onto the floor, meaning Even’s mum had to come in at one point and tell them off for letting Even’s Golden Retriever, Kermit, eat so many.

(The way Even cheered every time Isak caught any was worth it. The movie wasn’t bad, either, even if it just further stressed how much of a cliché Isak is, being a witch with a black cat.)

Nights like these aren’t that uncommon. It’s suspicious how easily Even’s integrated into his life. It’s enough that he’s charmed all of Isak’s friends and flatmates, but he’s wound himself so intrinsically himself into Isak’s daily routine that he’ll wait an extra twenty minutes  _every day_  just so that they can catch the tram home together. But whatever, they’re just friends.

(Isak’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure friends don’t look at each other the way he and Even do, let alone flirt as obnoxiously.)

“It’s not  _weird_ , Isak, it’s Studio Ghibli. Kiki’s Delivery Service is a wonderful tale of magic and friendship. You’re just jealous because you don’t ride a broomstick.”

It’s an uncanny thing to say, so much so that Isak just blinks at him. The boys all pause, glancing at him in varying states of worry. All except for Magnus, who peeks over Isak’s shoulder at the forgotten physics test.

“A smiley face?” He says incredulously. “That old crone gave you a smiley face for 79%? I can’t even get a smile out of her and I’m on 85%!”

Even shrugs. “Ms. Olsen? She loves me.”

“ _How?_ ”

“I’m a loveable person,” Even replies simply.

Magnus looks at Even like he hung the moon. “You’re right,” he nods, chastised. Mahdi snorts.

“Watch out, Isak,” says Jonas, elbowing him, “you’ve got competition.”

Isak rolls his eyes because his friends are dicks and they know it. There’s little to no chance that Even didn’t hear Jonas, confirmed when he looks up to see Even watching him curiously. He wants to look away but there’s no use; Even has a way of pinning him down with his stare. It’s really fucking hot.

“Isak?” Even asks, “can I speak with you?”

“Sure,” Isak shrugs, trying his best to seem chill.

A few moments pass with Even saying nothing, just looking at the other boys expectantly. When they just stare plainly back, Even sighs deeply. He turns back to Isak. “I wanted to ask you out. On a date.”

He continues, uncertainly this time. “With me.”

Even is just about the most confident person Isak knows, yet this is the first he’s ever looked even slightly out of his element. He’d once told Isak that the reason he’d been in the haunted bathroom was because he got overwhelmed sometimes, having moved to a new school in his final year and needing some space to himself. He thinks there are more hidden depths to Even that he necessarily shows.

When Jonas elbows him, not very subtly, Isak knows he’s let the silence run on too long. “I’d love to,” he breathes. He hears Mahdi snigger from his other side but he doesn’t care. The way Even lights up like a Christmas tree is worth all the ribbing he is inevitably going to suffer from the boys.

Even’s eyes crinkle into crescents. “Cool,” he says, and Isak grins helplessly back. “I’ll text you.”

Isak just keeps nodding, a blush creeping up his face as Even walks past him. He stops to press a kiss on his cheek before disappearing into his friends across the courtyard.

One pats him on his back, congratulatory, and then he finally turns to meet Isak’s eye. He tips his head up, a parody of their salute at Halloween, except this time he has Isak’s hot chocolate instead of a lukewarm beer. He didn’t even notice him take it, and he doesn’t even mind. The thought of Even’s lips touching something his lips have touched is grossly intimate, and he brings his fingers up just to imagine the phantom feeling.

Isak is  _so_  fucked.

 

**4.**

Today is dragging and he can’t wait to get home. It feels like they’ve been in Kandrakar for days, even though the moment they return to Oslo it will be like barely any time has passed. Kandrakar doesn’t exactly abide by a time zone, still in motion when everything else slows. It means Isak’s been awake for 37 hours, and he’s just about ready to resign.

The Oracle is meeting, rumours of warfare lead by an enemy thought long gone.  _There is unrest in the realm_ , they say. They can’t tell him more.

It means Isak, Jonas, Mahdi, and Magnus are stuck waiting around for further news, reclining on furniture made from clouds and counting the seconds until they can leave. This is important, he knows that, but it sometimes feels like a battle he never signed up for, someone else’s problem.

Regardless, it’s his problem now. Guardians are chosen: they can be descendants (like Jonas, whose mother was also a Fire guardian) or selected by fate (Magnus was favoured by fortune). Some merit their powers (Mahdi earned the sea as a child), and some are given as punishments, as a way of paying back what was lost to the realm.

Isak’s cards were drawn for him when his mother abandoned her place in the Oracle for the love of a human. Magical entities aren’t made for the dullness of Earth, will wither away with the death of their magic. Now, Isak must pay off that debt until the very last cent.

(The Heart isn’t given to just anybody.)

It felt wholly unfair at fifteen. Isak is seventeen now: faster, stronger and a little more resigned. He is loyal to his responsibility. He will protect Earth and he will protect Kandrakar to the best of his abilities, even if his time management needs considerable work. It doesn’t help that they’re still missing an element, are yet to find their Air. Every day it feels like they’re only straying further.

It’s another few hours before they’re finally told to leave. For once, the Oracle has no answers, just whispers of uncertainty, and this is worrying. Isak teleports them home with a heavy heart, all of the boys silent as they wonder what this means for them, what this means for the worlds they've pledged themselves to.

By the time he’s back in his bedroom, starfished across his mattress with a PlayStation controller digging uncomfortably at his spine, he’s just about done with the realm. He’s a teenager, for fuck’s sake. His biggest responsibilities should be having enough money for impromptu kebab and whether he did his laundry this week. Instead, he’s having to worry about the safety of millions, of the growing threat of a kingdom far, far away.

He feels something nudging at his ear, tousling the matted strands of his hair. It’s Ruby, his cat, little more than a pet no matter how many times Eskild calls her his familiar. Isak had found her around the same time he moved into the kollektiv, shivering beneath sopping newspapers by the garbage drop-off of their building. He’s not actually sure he’s allowed to have pets here at all but he knows Eskild and Linn would ever tell.

She’s a comfort more than anything, a needed one at times like these, and he nestles further into the softness of her fur. She nips at his ear lightly, harder when he doesn’t react, and he pulls her onto his chest just to end the attack. It means she’ll shed fur on his Guardian clothes, long hairs the colour of coal, but Noora left them with a killer recipe when she moved out, capable of removing almost any stain from garments sewn of magic. Between him and Eskild, he’s sure they can sort something out.

The attack continues. Ruby flexes her claws into his chest, and it could just be her nesting but it feels like more. “What is it?” He asks her, scratching the underside of her chin. She pauses to preen at the attention, before slinking over to his phone, face down against his duvet.

Curious, he summons it with a flick of his index finger, only to have his stomach fill with dread at the sight. The lock screen is drowning with messages, green bubbles meaning they’re from Even, the only person he knows lacking Messenger. They’re spaced minutes apart, and it takes three tries before he gets his pass code right to read them.

_Hey Isak, are you at home?_

_I have a surprise_

_You’re not replying but you’re probably just playing fifa so I’m coming over_

_Maybe you don’t like surprises?_

_Okay I’m sorry, I’ve bought groceries and I wanted to cook you dinner? I’m making lasagne, your favourite <3_

_I’ll be there in 20 x_

That was sixteen minutes ago.  _Fuck_.

Isak’s still in his Guardian garb, luckily no longer in the garish purples and stripes of past Guardians, but still distinctly otherworldly. The shirt is off-white and billowing, tapering in at the cuffs like something out of the regency novels Eskild doesn’t even try to hide, and his trousers are form-fitting and burgundy. All of their outfits differ slightly, the colours reflective of their element, meaning Jonas’s are a ridiculous fire-engine red, though he doesn’t seem to mind.

He’s in the process of pulling them off when there’s a knock at the front door. It’s muffled through his bedroom so he listens out for an answer: it could just be Linn ordering in food. Eskild answers the door, his usual peppiness grating even from another room, and yes, that is definitely Even’s baritone.

Oh God. The fight against his pants becomes even uglier, but finally they’re off and he’s slipping into the closest replacement available. They’re not his tightest jeans, but at least they’re not purple so he’ll make do. Next comes the shirt, ripped over his head and thrown so forcefully across the room that it gets caught on the window ledge.

He can hear Eskild coming closer, walking Even down the corridor to Isak’s room. Though he’s a menace, Isak trusts Eskild with his life, meaning anything remotely magical will have been hidden with a snap of his fingers. Even is a pixie and a past Air guardian of the realm. He took Isak in days before he found out his own role and, in a way, taught him everything he knows. If he suspects Isak hasn’t told Even of his powers, he will be as discrete as knows how to.

The knock on his door comes just as Isak’s slipping the only clean shirt he can find over his head. It goes down smoothly until it reaches a hurdle: Isak’s wings. The doors opening and Isak’s still shirtless and his wings are on full display, curling delicately around his shoulders like a dragonfly's. He catches a glimpse of Even’s face, sweet and relaxed before Isak slams the door shut with his magic.

On the other side, Even makes a surprised sound.

“Er, he does that sometimes,” Eskild explains lamely, which isn’t entirely wrong.

“Are you okay in there, Isak?” Even asks, voice laced with worry.

Isak wills himself to calm down, if only so that his wings will retreat back into his shoulder blades. They’re fluttering along with his nerves but after several slow breaths, they disappear, up and up until there’s nothing left except smooth, unblemished skin.

“I’m good,” he pants, reopening the door, manually this time. “Just, um, getting changed.”

Behind Even, Eskild’s left eyebrow is so far raised it may as well merge with his hairline. Isak shrugs helplessly, and Eskild shakes his head with such fond exasperation it calms him down too. When he faces Even, his eyes are roaming across his chest, still shirtless. He blushes pink when he’s caught.

“Getting changed,” Even coughs, staring an inch to the right of Isak’s eye line. “Do you, um, do you work out?”

Even’s seen him shirtless before, so he’s not sure why he’d be noticing his abdomen only now. Isak doesn’t have a gym membership, but he spends several nights a week on very physical quests and that kind of activity takes a toll. Right now he’s all flushed and sweaty from the fight with his trousers, so that could be the issue.

“Yeah?” Is all Isak says, because somehow that’s easier than explaining the Gorgon he fought last week.

“Cool,” Even says weakly, clearing his throat. Eskild is still watching them, the look of someone who regrets not having brought popcorn along. He rolls his eyes.

“Put on a shirt before you give the poor boy a heart attack, Isak,” he says bossily, only making Even blush deeper. “Even’s making lasagne!”

Even’s making lasagne for  _Isak_ , but Eskild’s gone before he can make that clear. It leaves the two of them alone, standing in and out of his bedroom. Even’s still blushing, but at least he can meet Isak’s eyes now, which just causes Isak to blush.

“I’m sorry if this is a bad surprise,” Even says quietly and no, that won’t do.

Isak steps forward, taking one of the shopping bags from his hands. It’s heavy and smells tantalisingly of fresh mozzarella. “It’s not at all,” he says into the space between Even’s lips.

They kiss just like that, chaste and simple, and if Even drops his bags in order to wind a hand through Isak’s hair and pull him closer, dinner can wait.

 

**5.**

Isak is late for a very important date.

Really, really,  _really_  late.

He was supposed to meet Even at a theatre across town almost an hour ago, some 80s nostalgia movie night or Ukrainian silent film he’s been talking about for weeks. It’s part of the international film festival and these tickets were really hard to get and  _Isak, where are you?_

Currently, Isak is trying to drag his ass back to Earth after a showdown with an ex-Guardian turned demonic presence, kicked out of the realm decades ago but back with a ghostly army to break everybody’s balls. Or win back her powers as the 38th Heart of Kandrakar. Depends who you ask.

He’s exhausted and he’s dirty and there’s rubble beneath his fingernails. His shirt is ripped and there’s a cut high on his cheekbone, blessedly shallow but bleeding like a bitch. All the boys are in a similar state: Mahdi's passed out, Magnus needs twenty-three stitches and Jonas has a broken nose. They’ve been trapped in the palace’s infirmary for hours and in Kandrakar for days. The call came this morning during gym period, Isak having to fake an injury just to get out of the class football game.

It was a code red: the army had arrived.

Several days, but only eight human hours later, the battle is over but they’re all still here. He doubts this is the end of it; the enemy will be licking their wounds for some time, but until they’re dead the fight will never be over. They’ll build themselves up again, growing their army in the Shadowy Place.

Now more than ever they need their fifth element. They need their Air.

Instead, Isak has a very irritated boyfriend on the other end of the line and an Oracle that won’t let him leave until they’ve gone over every second of the past week in excruciating detail. He doesn’t know how phone reception works up here but he’s not going to question it; he needs every small miracle right now.

It’s possible Isak made a small miscalculation when he didn’t factor in how important tonight was to Even. It’s the angriest he’d ever heard him, which is still little more than snapping, or worse, Even’s sad voice. It’s not only sad, it’s  _disappointed_ , and Isak’s just about ready to shrivel up and die.

“You promised you’d be here,” Even’s saying, accusatory.

“I know, I know, I’m so fucking sorry, Even. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You’re an hour late. You know how much I was looking forward to this, Isak.”

“I did, I’m so, so sorry. I was just— just…”

“Just what?”

“Just… busy,” Isak finishes lamely.

On the other end, Even laughs humourlessly. “You’re always ‘just busy’, Isak. Busy doing what?”

“Busy…” Isak gulps audibly. He’s never been skilled at thinking up clever things on the spot. Even now, after everything he’s been through, his brain is stuck on revolving reels of monkeys riding tricycles, clapping cymbals as they spin around his brain. “Busy, um, doing homework. I lost track of the time.”

The hurt sound Even makes rips deep into Isak’s soul. “You do all your homework during class, Isak. Don’t lie to me.”

Isak inhales.

The truth is, he can’t even begrudge him his anger. Even has every right to be pissed off: Isak’s a shitty boyfriend. He’s grumpy and he’s secretive and he’s missed more dates than he’s made. His excuses are flimsy at best and Even isn’t stupid nor gullible. He tells Isak everything, has been candid about every aspect of his life, even the ugly bits, because honesty and communication are the foundations of any healthy relationship.

Isak isn’t deluded here. He knows Even’s too good for him. He doesn’t deserve this.  

“I…”

“You what? You always have an excuse, Isak. Last week it was the flu and this week you accidentally locked yourself into your flat,  _twice_. You didn’t even have a reason for missing dinner with my parents on Sunday. I had to hear from  _Magnus_  that your uncle’s pet hamster had come to town or some other bullshit. Do you know what that sounds like?”

“Even, listen—”

“It sounds like you don’t give a shit about us. About me.”

“That’s not true, Even!”

“Then why aren’t you here?” Even asks, his voice small and sad.

He hates himself for making Even sound like this. Even is light, he is sunshine and warmth and Isak’s pretty sure he’s in love with them, even after six short weeks.

“I’m trying,” he whispers, listening for the way Even’s breath hitches in his throat. Long, tortuous moments pass where Isak thinks he may have got through to him, offering his heart to Even on a chipped china plate.

“Don’t bother, Isak. The movies almost over, anyway.”

Even crushes it in his hands. He hangs up.

The silence rings loud in Isak’s ears, deafening to the point of combustion. He’s freaking out, bile surging high in his throat until he can no longer breathe, and suddenly the room is spinning and he’s no longer in a kingdom of clouds but standing before a colourful cinema. There are bright yellow light bulbs flickering down on him, illuminating posters for upcoming movies.

He’s done this before – involuntary magic – but only in times of dire need. His magic must recognise that this is one of them.

He spots Even’s familiar denim jacket a few steps ahead, his back turned as he stalks away. He’s staring down at his phone, biting his lip so hard there’s no blood left. He looks lost.

Isak rushes after him, catching up quickly and pulling him into an alley just off the main road. He’s lucky Even chose a cinema in a quieter side of town just for this reason; nobody should disturb them here.

Even yelps at the contact but Isak’s stronger. He holds him still until Even looks at him properly, any words dying promptly on his lips. He’s staring at Isak, eyes wide with shock, both their chests rising in long, shuddering breaths.

“Isak?” He says finally, dripping in uncertainty. “Is that you?”

It’s been a while since Isak saw himself transformed. The Oracle rejects vanity; there are no reflections, just windows that face onto endless galaxies. From memory, he appears much older, standing taller with shorter, well-groomed hair. His jaw is sharper and his face and mannerisms less boyish. He looks like a man.

Isak’s not sure he can speak right now, still catching his breath from the shift. He nods shakily.

Even gasps. “What— what happened to you?”

Isak expects he’s meaning his sudden appearance of a 25-year-old. Even, because he never ceases to be the most selfless person Isak’s ever met, dives straight for the gash on his cheek. His fingers are warm on Isak’s jaw, pulling him close so that Even can inspect the damage. They come off bloody, Isak wincing at the sight. It’s stupid but blood makes him squeamish, especially his own.

“Are you okay? Fuck, baby, what happened?” Even’s asking urgently, pulling back to reach at every inch of Isak, patting him down in search of further injuries. There are a few, but nothing so tangible, and soon enough Even’s hands are back on his face, threading through his hair. The grip feels like home and Isak practically falls into him, the exhaustion from the fight, from his nerves, from  _life_ , bowling him over. He feels like a doll whose chords have been cut, melting into Even’s chest, feeling his eyes getting tearful when Even immediately hugs him back, clutching him so close they fuse into one.

He wills himself to return to his human form, the younger, scared Isak with bloodied lips and terrified eyes. It's not entirely successful - his wings remain - but he feels more like himself, regardless.

“I need to show you something,” he whispers, deep into the warmth of his neck. He’s so close he can feel it when Even gulps, nodding minutely.

He pulls back, trying to hide his shaking hands. Even doesn’t let him, gripping them tightly. Isak pulls a palm to his lips, kissing it gently.

It’s time.

He lets go, reaching down the opening of his shirt, falling in tatters down his chest. He feels the Heart before he sees it, burning like lava, the brightest pink it’s ever been. He holds it carefully between folded palms, presenting it to Even like a gift. It paints their skin rosy, the only light visible other than the flickering headlights of passing cars and the starry night above.

“What is it?” Even asks quietly, watching the small, glowing sphere.

“It is the Heart of Kandrakar,” Isak says. “I am its keeper.”

Even’s gaze flicks to him, uncertain. He looks like he wants to reach out and touch it; stops himself almost immediately, his fist curling back down to his hip.

“What does it do?”

At his words, the Heart glows brighter, a smattering of pink wind appearing from its light. It rushes around them like a hurricane, heady and benevolent. It breathes of magic, so visceral it’s like being bathed in stardust.

It cleans Isak of his wounds, meaning Mahdi must have focused his powers on him. Isak’s no healer, can only take life and revive it, and though his clothing remains tattered, by the time the pink blows away, the cut at his cheek is no more than a faint red line, the bruises on his legs fading purple.

“It gives me power, magic,” Isak explains. “I’m a witch.”

He expects Even to baulk at the words, regardless of what he’s just seen. The thought petrifies him, the words spilling out before he can stop them.

“We’re all witches, the boys and I. We’re the Guardians of Kandrakar, a realm in a different universe than ours. Jonas is the Guardian of Fire, Mahdi of Water and Magnus of Earth. I protect the Heart, what gives us all powers. The reason I’m gone all the time is because we never know when the Oracle will call us, and sometimes their quests are simple and sometimes it means fighting evil for days. Time moves differently there, it’s why I’m always late, I never know when I can return or what’s going to happen but there are millions of people depending on us, Even, I know it’s impossible to believe but we protect them and we protect Earth and I’m so sorry I wasn’t here and kept ditching you but it’s a secret, nobody knows, Magnus’s own mum doesn’t even know! And I wanted to tell you so much but I never thought you’d believe me and I was so scared to and—”

“Isak, baby,” Even interrupts him, hands pressing down on his shoulders. The touch feels like worship, like a home to belong to. “Breathe, it’s okay.”

Isak just gapes at him. “How is it  _okay?_ ”

“You’re a witch, Isak!” Even cries, his eyes glittering in awe. “You’re magic!”

Isak falters, suddenly shy. “You don’t find this weird?”

“It’s amazing!” Even practically squeals, folding him into another hug, trying to press kisses all over his face. “You’re amazing.”

Isak desperately wants to enjoy this but he can’t when Even’s arms are caged above his wings. They’re plastered to his skin right now, self-preservation, and Isak hisses at the contact. They’re so fucking sensitive.

“Wait,” he hisses, untangling to let them spread free. They unravel slowly, the blue yellow purple of an oil slick, glassy to the eye but soft like chiffon. They’re tipped in black, sharp arches creating slim curves and dewdrop edges, open like a butterfly. His aren’t even the most impressive, more decorative than anything else, but Even still gasps at the sight.

“You have  _wings?_ ”

Isak brings Even’s hands back, raising them to a dainty tip. “You can touch it if you like,” he says quietly.

Even nods, so enthusiastic he’s buzzing. His touch is feather-light, careful to the point of reverence. It sends shivers down Isak’s spine. Too much could be overwhelming.

“You’re like a fairy,” Even muses.

“I’m a  _witch_ ,” Isak corrects, always a little primly. It just makes Even smile, leaning down to press a kiss against his forehead, again at the fading cut on his cheekbone.

“My witch,” Even giggles, just as giddy as Isak feels. “My boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend,” Isak sighs, wrapping his arms back around Even. His wings follow suit, spreading over their shoulders until they meet across Even’s back. The Heart burns between them, their bodies solid and warm, and when Isak tips up his chin for a kiss, Even’s mouth is hotter than everything combined.

Isak may be a witch, a protector, and a Guardian, but Even?

Even is true magic.

 

**(+1)**

A week after Christmas finds them back at the kollektiv, Jonas and Mahdi piled onto the couch with Magnus sprawled across the rug. Isak and Even are squashed into the only free armchair, Isak draped across Even’s lap with Ruby draped across his. Even combs a hand through her fur, switching occasionally to scratch at Isak’s hair.

Things have been calm since the battle, enough that they don’t have to feel guilty for getting drunk on a Saturday night. Past Guardians have been called in while the search for their Air intensifies, the realm in safe hands for the time being. Isak is enjoying their time off, even if he doubts it will last long. Either way, it means a night in with his boyfriend, his best friends and his cat, accompanied by McDonald’s and a Fifa tournament Isak is winning. After all, he is a man of simple pleasures.

He’s levitating fries into his mouth – shrewdly out of Even’s now that he’s finished his own – when he hears his name, followed by peals of laughter. Even’s thighs are shaking beneath him, causing Ruby to knead her claws into his sweater in retaliation.

“Stop that, little one,” he whispers, untangling them gently.

“I can’t believe you never guessed Isak was a witch. He  _talks_  to his cat,” Jonas laughs, watching them fondly.

“His  _black_  cat,” Mahdi adds, wagging his eyebrows.

“Didn’t Sailor Moon have a black cat?” Magnus asks.

“Yes!” Even grins, always the one to catch the pop culture reference. “Luna!”

“Oh my god, how did I never realise that Isak is Sailor Moon,” Magnus gasps.

“I am  _not_  Sailor Moon.”

“First of all, you are totally Sailor Moon,” Mahdi says wisely, brandishing a fry for emphasis, “and second of all, her name is Usagi. Have some respect.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “I am in no way like Sailor Moon. First of all—”

Jonas points a finger at him. “If you say you’re not a girl, I swear to God—”

“ _First_   _of all_ , I don’t use a wand.”

Jonas waves him off. “Details. You’re both blonde, you’re both dramatic and you both own magical black cats.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that Ruby isn’t my familiar?”

“That cat knows things,” Magnus grouses, Ruby eyeing him balefully. “I can feel it.”

“Hey, now,” Even says lowly, running a soothing hand over her ears. Ruby perks up immediately, purring into the touch like a tiny black rocket. “Leave Ruby out of this.”

“Suck up,” Mahdi calls. Even just shrugs, not even bothering to deny it. Isak presses a kiss against his cheek just because. “Anyway, weren’t we listing reasons why Isak is Sailor Moon? Did we mention he’s dramatic?”

Isak rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. “I am not that dramatic.”

“Isak, you literally ditched a meeting with the Oracle because you thought Even was angry at you,” Jonas says. “I thought Himerish was going to have a conniption.”

Isak bites his lip. “Shit, really?”

Mahdi shakes his head. “I mean, you probably couldn’t have chosen a worse time, but he gets it. Young love and all that.”

“Remember that time Isak threw a tantrum because I was able to get directions out of those Imps but he couldn’t?” Magnus asks, squaring his shoulders proudly.

“You only tell that story because it makes you sound good,” Isak says scornfully. “How about the time I had to save you from turning yourself into a tree?”

“That was an accident,” Magnus whines, blushing at being embarrassed in front of Even. “I didn’t have full control over my powers, then!”

“And you do now?” Mahdi snorts.

“Oi!”

Isak’s distracted by long fingers pulling lightly at his curls. He sits up straighter so that his side falls against Even’s chest. It disturbs Ruby who’s had enough of their nonsense, jumping off of his lap and stalking down the hallway. Her tail undulates in her wake.

“Are you four always like this?” Even whispers in his ear, lips tantalisingly close. His arms wrap tight around him, pulling Isak in so that he nestles into Even’s neck, Even resting his head on Isak’s hair.

“This is nothing. Magnus is on his best behaviour tonight,” Isak giggles, running the pads of his fingers over the collar of Even’s shirt. He brushes above his heart, feeling it beat quietly through well-worn fabric.

“Do you think he’d do some magic for me if I asked?” He whispers, and Isak snorts.

“Mags would run naked in the snow if you asked,” he sniggers.

“Maybe some other time,” Even grins, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

It doesn’t take long to get Magnus attention, pleased for the distraction from the roast being conducted by Jonas and Mahdi. He delights at Even’s request, offering him options of flowers he could grow him, even though his powers extend a lot further than mere ornaments. Even surprises them all by asking for peach blossoms, which Magnus has to look up in one of Noora’s old Occult plant books for reference.

Finally, he lays his hand flat. Tiny green tendrils erupt slowly from the centre of his palm, curling around his wrist and fingers. They grow higher, gaining body until wispy leaves are sprouting from the stems and the roots are of relative thickness, enough for tiny, pink flowers to bud at the tips. The petals look as delicate as crêpe paper, growing to the size of pom poms. At the centre are long, pink filaments with saffron yellow anthers.

He’d never tell him this, but Isak can’t really blame Magnus for wanting to show his powers off so often. They’re beautiful.

Even picks the flowers up gingerly, giving them a sweeping look of admiration. Then, he begins arranging them artfully in Isak’s hair.

Magnus huffs, throwing his hands up in despair. “When will I get to do this for someone?”

And they say  _Isak’s_  dramatic.

“When you’re as gross as they are,” Mahdi groans. He joins in though because they’re all secretly happy to have someone they can show off their magic for. He swirls his hand in the air, a string of sparkly blue bubbles materialising from the tips of his fingers. He blows them in their direction, causing Isak to sneeze at the attack.

“I mean, if we’re all showing off,” Jonas muses, drawing a small circle with his index finger. Orange pinpricks appear at the motion, growing wider and scattering across the room. They stop when they reach the size of small candles, naked flames floating unevenly in the air like fairy lights. Isak takes a moment to worry about the curtains, but Jonas knows what he’s doing and they have Mahdi here in any case.

It’s then that they all turn to him expectantly. Even nudges his forehead with his nose, and Isak takes a deep breath. He pulls himself up slowly, feeling Even’s hands close around his thighs, holding him steady. He cups his palms together, calling for the magic deep within him. The air begins to crackle as the pink wind returns, rushing in smoky circles around them. Suddenly, golden lightning flashes from the ball of energy in his hands, snapping up and up and up until it fizzles out, crumbling down like glittering fireworks.

The room is dim when Isak’s final lightning bolt crackles away into smoke. Jonas’s flames are still glowing and the room is alive with magic. Even hugs him close, tucking his face into Isak’s cheek.

“You’re  _magic_ , Isak,” he murmurs, burning into Isak’s skin. Even pulls back enough to address the rest of the group, voice soft with wonder.

“You’re all magic.”

 

/

 

Later on, when the boys have bailed for late-night ice skating with the girls, Isak and Even are spread out side by side on the fuzzy rug. Ruby is back, curled up on Even’s stomach, now sporting an upside-down crescent moon sticker at the centre of her forehead, undoubtedly from somewhere in Eskild’s grotto. She must like it because she’s never purred louder, though that is just her standard reaction to Even.

(Isak can relate.)

Isak’s been picking the blossoms out of his hair and transferring them to Even’s for the past few minutes, working from the light of the flames still dancing in the air.

“Isak?” Even whispers. “Can I ask you something?”

Isak hums, pausing to pay attention.

Even bites his lips. “Your pendant, the Heart… Could I hold it?”

It’s the last thing Isak’s expecting, but he barely hesitates before extracting the necklace from within the folds of his shirt. This is dangerous, rule number one in the Keeper’s guidebook. He repeats the words to himself, traces an imaginary finger over embossed letters: THE HEART MUST NEVER LEAVE THE KEEPER.

Isak’s heart belongs to Even now, so he extends it as far as it can go without leaving his body.

Even is slow to the touch, pulling himself up gently as to not dislodge the sleeping cat on his ribs. The Heart is glowing its usual pink, though the closer one looks the more they will see. Within it spins a sea of raw magic, bubble gum pink turning to fuchsia, shimmering like storms upon planets. His hands cup Isak’s, allowing the ball to drop into his palms. All is still, and then nothing is.

The Heart rushes silver and the air around them chills, sparkly gusts shooting from the pendant in every direction. They flitter through the candles, flames dancing in panic, tousling their hair and Ruby’s whiskers. They spin and they spin until they culminate in an explosion, bursting into millions of snowflakes that fall like tiny stars. They catch on their hair and their sleeves and the loose threads of the carpet. A final beat emits from the Heart, a circle of pale blue light that encompasses the room before disappearing entirely.

Isak looks up and after an eternity Even meets his gaze. His eyes are the blue of the sky, of icicles and rain clouds. Isak can’t believe he didn’t guess it sooner.

He smiles and Even smiles back.

They’ve found their Air.

**Author's Note:**

> If you were a preteen girl growing up in Italy in the early 2000s, chances are you were obsessed with W.I.T.C.H. comics. I never in my life expected to write this, but I woke up last Friday at 3AM with the urgent thought that I'd never actually found out what happened to the girls at the end of the series. Long nights and 9k later, here is a very fluffy and very indulgent fusion fic that lets me throw around the words "glitter" and "sparkles" with reckless abandon. 
> 
> Isak is modeled (very lightly) on Will here, and for reference, [this is what her (and his) wings look like](http://witchmagic.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/willguardian.jpg). Their Guardian outfits are nothing but my imagination, inspired by my deep, abiding love for Regency heroes in billowing white shirts (often tucked into very tight trousers that may or may not be velvet.) It's also been a very long time since I read a W.I.T.C.H. comic and research is for cowards. It's safe to say I took some creative liberties.
> 
> I haven't made a playlist in a very long time but I'm having a weird 2012 revival, so here are a few songs I listened to on repeat as I wrote this. They are, in no particular order: "Nancy From Now On" by Father John Misty, "Laura" by Bat for Lashes (ofc), "I Follow You" by Melody's Echo Chamber, "Futile Devices" by Sufjan Stevens, "Imagine It Was Us" by Jessie Ware, "Diplomat's Son" by Vampire Weekend and "Space Song" by Beach House.
> 
> As always, you can find me on [tumblr](https://www.branstark.tumblr.com).


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